


energy

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Bible Belt Troubles, Gen, M/M, Post-Marble Hornets, Religion, Witch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jay takes solace in the trees nowadays. Not everybody likes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	energy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallish/gifts).



> I'll be honest, I don't know much about these things, but I'm going by the little bit I dabbled in. I made this as a birthday present for the ever lovely Teal.

A door swings on its hinges, shoved open by a pair of clenched hands and a violent breeze.

“You can’t do that anymore, Jay.”

Two pairs of feet clamber inside to a kitchen that ought to be swept and wiped down. Clumsy hands shake, and dozens of beautiful crystals clatter to the linoleum floor.

“And why not?!”

Tim has to pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off the annoyance headache that’s coming on. 

It’s not Jay’s fault. He has to remind him of that, says as much while taking his soft hands into his own calloused fingers. There is nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Placing his hope and energy in the heart of nature? That actually might be the best idea he’s ever had-- take what has spat in his face and turn it into something that is essential to his soul’s well-being.

But then again, this is Alabama.

“The kids think it’s a game. There’s nothing wrong with it,” Jay pouts, tearing his hands from Tim’s grip. He scrapes up his precious crystals from the ground, where they toppled from the tiny burlap sack he totes them around town in. He holds them to his heart, gleaming under the last beam of sunlight bursting in from past the drapes. “I just want to give them good energy.”

“And that’s all well and good but you do realize we live in the Bible Belt?” 

Indeed, it’s lucky Tim caught Jay when he did. Tim strolled out to find him, worrying-- it wasn’t often that Jay stayed out so close to sundown. 

He knew that Jay liked to hang around at the playground three blocks from the house, the one that isn’t too close to anything that could be considered a forest. The equipment is rusty and needs a desperate overhaul, but parents continue to bring their screaming spawn to it, mumbling to them to keep from scratching their skin open or they’ll have a good time at the doctors while they’re given tetanus shots. 

Save for the distance from any crooked branches or falling leaves, Tim fails to see the appeal in visiting the place every day. Jay insists there is an energy to be found within the soil, though, he can feel it and he charges his crystals by finding a nice spot of sun beside the neon yellow monkey bars. They sit out in the heat, soaking it up, spreading out their glimmering limbs for all eyes to behold.

Naturally, kids get curious when there’s a strange lanky man on the playground, scribbling away in a notebook while turning the colorful gems and shifting them to move in time. The parents didn’t pay Jay much mind, since he kept to himself, but when their children wandered up to him and he pressed the crystals into their little waiting hands, they had something to say.

“Just what do you expect? They’re going to think you’re corrupting their children and bringing them over to the dark side or something.”

Jay grumbles and mumbles and keeps his head low, but he doesn’t protest. Tim already could tell that he understood why sharing his crystals was a dangerous game; allowing the grass, the rich soil, the sands of the sandbox to bless the children instead of the Big Guy in the Sky Himself? Blasphemy, complete and utter blasphemy, at least by Bible Belt Christian eyes. They would both know; Tim wouldn’t be a Christian at all if his mother hadn’t introduced him to the idea of it and shaped it to be his own instead of allowing her to use it as a control tactic over him.

(“Pills? You only need the grace of God on your side.”)

(“I’ll pray for you until you’re okay again, baby.”)

(“What do you mean? Are you saying you’re an atheist?”

“Mom, no, I’m saying this… doesn’t feel right. The way the pastor talksabout it. I tried to talk to God and I think They would have an issue with--”

“He. God is He.”

“I have a weird feeling God doesn’t really give a shit.”

“Get out of this room if you’re going to speak such things while saying His name in the same breath!”)

“I just don’t understand.”

Jay perches on the kitchen stool, petting his bag of crystals. They clink merrily, glinting at the top, a peek of pink threatening to tumble from the opening. Tim can’t resist reaching out to touch it, pushing it back inside, and, for maybe a second, his fingertips tingle, like they’re being charged. That or it’s a psychomatic type thing, wishful thinking on Jay’s behalf. 

“People thinking that this is bad for me, when it’s done nothing but make me happy,” Jay mutters, pressing his lips to the bag. “…I don’t get it.”

His shoulders tremble under his sigh. Tim’s insides clench at the sound of it.

“The same could be said about us, but you don’t see Alabama changing its opinion on us anytime soon,” he says, gently as he can. He relaxes at the brief snort Jay utters, putting on a soft smile. “Yeah. You’re not doing anything wrong. But there’s a time and place.”

Jay nods, though he remains curled on his seat, knees propped up on the stool’s bar and bag to his heart. Nothing like being told there’s a time and place to be oneself and that it’s when you’re all alone.

Tim shakes his head. He pulls a second stool up, sits, crosses his legs, and holds out his hands to Jay, palms up.

“I think I could use a charge. Gimme some tree juice. God knows they could give back after taking so much from me.”

Blue eyes sparkle as bright as the blue crystals that Jay hurriedly places into the centers of the creases and callouses. He rolls them back and forth, across the skin, massaging them in like they belong there.

“These aren’t powered by trees. It’s from the positive energy the children bring to the playground.”

“Just as well,” Tim shrugs. “It’s the only way I’ll be getting any sort of childhood back.”


End file.
